Sapphire Fire
by candelight
Summary: Before the last battle with the king,preparations are made. Through Saphira's eyes, she voices her concerns about her beloved Rider, wonders what would've been without the king,and hopes that they WILL win.


Sapphire Fire

* * *

My first Inheritance Cycle Fic! Saphira wonders, the day before the battle, how things might've been if she and Eragon could live lives free of the Empire before they march into the Last battle.

This is dedicated in honor of our Memorial day Veterans, who risked so much to keep our hopes alive. Your official day comes tommorow, but as we bow our heads in silent tribulation, may we remember you.

Lest we forget.

Quote:

_"Honour marched courageous hearts  
through our city streets.  
Joyous youth corrupt, defiled,  
by the touch of lethal steel.  
Boys made men we were sent back then,  
to be our lands elite.  
To join in battle on foreign soil.  
To be the chosen few._

War is War; nothing more.

Violent noise and beating rain,  
Hot metal screams, torn flesh steams.  
Blood, mud, fear, pain;

War is War; nothing more.

By war's swift touch a life lays broken,  
pleading eyes leave nothing unspoken.  
A clutching hand slowly loosens  
and when Death shrieks its triumph,  
a boy man answers.

War is War; nothing more.

Some returned, the "Lucky Ones",  
to safety, friends, to make amends,  
to dull the pain - to feel the same.  
To give mother's the lie to light pride's flame.  
"He died for us all, no fear - no pain."  
Though its we saw the truth,  
and its we know the shame.

War is War; nothing more.

A dream, a shadow in night's soft sounds  
strips Morpheus' cloak and a cry resounds.  
He leaps awake to a call half heard,  
repelling fear with his muttered words.  
"A dream - not real, I'm safe; I'm home."

War is War; nothing more.

Were the lessons learned?  
The price was paid.  
The marches marched  
and the wreaths all laid.  
You speak of honour and you speak of glory,  
you speak of courage when you tell our story,  
but when the count is in, and the costs are weighed;  
Its never been worth the price we've paid.  
Wheels within wheels; will you still doubt the sin,  
when the web at last breaks and the debts are called in?

War is war; is war - is war. Nothing more."  


____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I blinked, my eyelids closing with a quiet snick.

Sound, there would be fire to taste in the air. Torn, hot meat. The shriek of Carrion Crows as they greedily swooped over the dead, to be reapers

of requiems of innocence...

And blood. Lots of it. Although it gave me a tremendous pleasure to see my fangs dyed red, to roar and breathe aquamarine fire to haze the air

and cook enemies in their tracks....falling after a fatal shriek and tumbling into shadows.

The ones as huntress, that I've become accostomed to.

But I realize, while I may rather enjoy the armagedeon, my partner-of-my-mind-and-heart Eragon, feels otherwise.

He worries....I have attempted to reassure you...but I am need of that, myself.

The traitor and egg shatterer will die. For slaughtering people by the Thousand.

For the end of my brethen....

....For slaying Oromis, Glaedr, Eragon's Uncle, and indirectly, Brom....my partner's father, whom I regarded as a good man and companion.

But...I turn to face Eragon. He is gazing at his hands as the war drums beat in a rhythmic pattern, sounding off their death call in the indigo

skyline.

I...worry for him. Gentle illusions of quiet memories past will not stir the shadows in his mind.

Murtagh....Arya.....Roran....Nasuada....he worries for them all.

And believe it or not, he is worried about ME. I cannot help but roll my eyes at that.

He may be much older then I am....but I am stronger. Once, I needed shielding-it was revolted that ME, the fairest and most ferocious in

Alagaesia, would ever need such coddling-but no more.

It is my partner I am worried about....my Eragon.

I am like a sister....a mother.....an advisor......a friend.....no, that is not close enough.

Eragon IS me, as I am him.

And, despite the bloodbaths that would spell doom for Alagaesia, I would give myself up for his sake if Galbatorix took him away from me.

We would be slaves.

Now, and Forever. Angels of despair, Warriors of Darkness, egg shatterers, oath breakers, Murderers!

But, for his sake....

Can you call me selfish? I only love him too well-I could not take it if he were to die.

What would I have to live for? Only Revenge and certain death-that would be a relief. I could rejoin my Rider beyond the Veil.

Failed in our life's mission, but together in the embrace of death.

Roran Stronghammer is consoling his beloved and holding his newborn daughter named for his mother-Marian...

While he still can.

Eragon would greatly mourn his loss-through him, as would I.

Meanwhile that-friend-of-Eragon's-what-was-his-name-Horst was comforting his mate, Elain.

She had complications with her pregnancy...and ended up with twins. Twins she'd named after the two that had brought the most chaos to their

town-Eragon and Roran.

It makes me chuckle-just a little bit.

Nasuada is getting her fleets ready. I can tell Eragon is worried for her as well. He likes her-Nasuada is a good leader, and a good person.

And Arya-don't get me started on how Eragon worries for her. She is preparing her own thin, elegant rapier with a more elaborate set of spells.

Murtagh...even though he is only his half brother, Eragon does not wish to battle him, and neither do I. I pity Thorn as well....were we not on

opposing sides, we may be acquaintences. Perhaps something more.

I sometimes, I wonder....what would've happened if I had ended up with Eragon....but with no dark king threatening to slaughter us all?

What would've happened? We would be much more ignorant, perhaps....for I doubt we would've gone to the Varden-it wouldn't even have to

exist without the, as the Urgals call him, the Dragon King-would we have gone on living in Carvahall.

Knowing how the townspeople would've reacted, I think dryly to myself, Probably not.

Eragon stands. He puts a hand on my spiny crest-I blink, and turn to look at him.

_The song of the dead are the lamentations of the living._

He has thought this before-I send him my agreement.

_Little One....are you ready?_

Galbatorix will not try to kill us....but we must do everything in our power to do so to him.

If this ends well...perhaps we can fly again, just the two of us.

Forever into a colbalt sky...unchallenged by any warrior, regardless of race or class....beyond the endless-sometimes-black-blue-green-dark-cool-

salty-spray-on-the-lips-and-tounge-sea...to lands of hot desert sand, where I feel nestled, my own fire burning to rival the one outside.

Beyond misty mountains....betwixt and between worlds....

I perch, so Eragon can scurry on. A horn sounds.

A slight-soothing-breeze. I turn to look at him.

_You never answeredmy question, little one._

Eragon smiles, and puts a hand on my neck.

_I am ready._

That's all I needed to hear...though I would've liked another night with him safely under my wing.

I through myself into the sky, beyond the pool of balck that is Galbatorix's army, with a savage roar from my daggered mouth, Eragon raising his

sword to the overflowing-sunny-sky, and shouting,

_"Brisingr!"_

I swoop forward, my shields deflecting a battalion of arrows....

And the battle begins.


End file.
